The RunAways
by emotionalwrider
Summary: Jamiee a 18yrold is tired of the physical abuse so he takes off with his friend Benjamin.Gives a point of view on their lives and problems they come to deal with.


**The Run Aways**

_**Chapter 1: Too Much Poison**_

**Jamiee's P.O.V **_**(3:48pm)**_

"Ben, I can't stay long. My dad is supposed to home by four. And if I'm not there I'm sure you know what happen," he looked at me worriedly.

"You're walking home right?" he asked.

"Yeah. I didn't bring my bike," I answered as I readjusted my bag over my shoulder again.

"Take my bike, it won't take as long if you do," he offered. Ben had always been the caring type. No matter when I said no he'd still force me to take his things. "Please Jamiee, just take it. I don't want your father beating you again."

"Okay, okay, I'll take the damn thing," I replied as I fixed my side bag and jumped onto his bike. "Thanks, Ben. I'll see you later."

"Bye," he said as I quickly sped off leaving him behind me. I've known him since we were kids, and he's the only one who's been emotionally abused by his parents.

I finally arrived home and snuck into my bedroom window, hoping to _god_ no one was home yet. I threw my bag onto my bed and quietly kicked off my shoes. My stomach growled. I needed to eat soon or I wouldn't be able to think straight. Cracking the door nervously I stumbled out.

"Jamiee!" a deep, haunting voice made the hair on the back of my neck stand straight.

"Y-yeah dad?" I stuttered.

"Get in here, boy!" the voice yelled again. I could hear the sound of heavy, drunken footsteps. I stumbled into the livingroom, infront of my dazed father. "Boy, where the hell have you been?!" he demanded angrily. Just standing infront of him I could smell the stench of alcohol on his breath.

"I-I had t-to stop by Bens," I said weakly. I hated his tormenting. Ever since my mom started working nights... our family status went downhill. My father had picked up drinking, which followed with the emotional and phyiscal abuse. My mother was never home, so she couldn't do anything about it. And if she attempted? She would be face down the next second with a pair off matching black eyes. From there on, she served dinner then left for her late night waitress job saying only goodbyes, leaving me with a barely sober alcoholic.

"You're lying, Jamiee!" he took a swig from the amber colored bottle.

"D-dad, I swear," he stepped closer as I nervously edged backwards.

"Did I say move, damn't?!" he raised his hand and knocked me to the cold wood floor. "You're not my son... you're too pathetic to be my own child."

"Maybe i-if you st-stopped drinking you wouldn't b-be so blind," I whispered under my breath.

"What the _fuck_ did you say to me, boy!?" he spat.

"N-nothing," I croaked. He kicked me in the ribs, knocking every ounce of air from my lungs. I gasped for air as he became mad with laughter.

"I'm going to the Web," he bellowed and stumbled out the front door, leaving me to lie on the floor in pain induced agony. This wasn't the first time I'd ended up on the floor, gasping for air, and freshly bruised. It was the first time, when my mother frantically rushed me to the emergency room for having broken ribs. The doctor could see through the simple lie I had told. No kid would have such a bad case of broken ribs from "falling down a flight a stairs." My arms showed the marks made by a mad man that would never heal. And no one ever had the intentions of confronting my father, even when he was sober.

My mind was a blur as my body slowly drifted into my tainted imagination which my father destroyed. I'd awaken later, eat something, and continue life as if the incident had never occured. I awoke the next morning to my mother shaking me lightly.

"Jamiee. Jamiee, please wake up, please," I could hear the panic in her voice which brought me back into this reality of a nightmare. I coughed and tried to sit up. She nearly knocked the remaining air out of my lungs as she hugged me for dear life. "Honey, what happened?" she finally asked after relenting her grasp.

"M-mom, it's the same old. I just came home late from Benjamin's."

"Sweetie, he didn't break anything, did he?" I hated when she called me sweetie or honey, babying me like a three-year-old. Like it would change the internal bleeding that was clear as day on my fragile body. "Can you move?" she questioned.

"Mom, I'm fine. Nothings broken, and yes I can move. Just give me a moment to regain my composure." I slowly sat up. After a few minutes passed she helped me to my feet. I brushed the strands of hair from my face revealing my newly swollen lip. My mother gasped when she noticed the swelling then rambled on about leaving my father if it happened again. It never happened in the end. She came back to her senses when she noticed the clock on the kitchen stove.

"Jamiee, do you need a ride to the bus stop?" It was nearly six twenty-seven and the bus came at six thirty-five. I accepted her offer - staggering down to a bus stop which was four and a half blocks away seemed like crossing a desert with no water under a blistering sun.

I made it into my room discarding my tee shirt and changing to what looked like a clean tee. I slid on my shoes and positioned my book bag on my back.

"Honey, are you ready yet?" she questioned, peering into my room.

"Yeah, I just need my jacket then we can leave." Bending over slowly, I acquired my jacket, putting it into the crook of my arm and exited the room and went out to the car. My mother waited patiently for me. I got into the piece-of-shit car, not buckling the strap. It would just rub against my ribs. My mom started the ignition and pulled out of the driveway. Within two minutes we pulled up to the urban parking lot overgrown with weeds and rotting markers.

"Well, I guess I'll see you tonight, then," I said opening the car door and stepping out.

"Bye, Jamiee."

"Bye, mom," I replied as I closed the door and waved her off. The bus emptied and refilled with people. As usual, I was in no rush, and was last on. Cautiously, I stepped on, making my way up the steps and down the aisle to my reserved seat. The gossip team was in low whisper as I sauntered by. Like a drive-by shooting, people shot glares from every angle. Ben scooted over giving, me plenty room to stretch my legs.


End file.
